☀️🐞🧚‍♀️

By the time you arrived home, half of Frank's dialogue was just under-breath-mumblings to himself, "in a fucking dress no less, freezing your ass off on the side of the road," and "the fucking car is practically on E, I swear to god you got a death wish or somethin'" as he shrugged off his coat and you stormed to the bedroom and slammed the door.

Seated on the edge of the bed, the weight of the day on you, you allowed yourself a brief pity party which turned into a healthy cry and eventually a hiccuped sob. It only took a moment to hear the soft tap on the door, Frank imploring you to open up.

"Fuck honey, don't cry," his voice, the kindness back in it, traveling through the door. "Come on baby, open up, hate hearin' you cry," he pleads.

You shuffle over to the door and burst into renewed sobs upon seeing Frank's face, all the softness back in it. Stuffing your face into Frank's chest, your mumble a muffled apology as he rubs big circles on your back, saying "That's my girl, let it out honey. S'alright," adding, "You know I worry about you babydoll, can't go scaring me like that." You nod and promise not to ignore the light again.

After a life-affirming shower, a good meal and copious snuggles on the couch, it's not long before you find yourself back in the bedroom being stretched by Frank's monstrous cock, him cooing how well you're taking it. What a good girl you are. His promises to make you feel good. He had you so close, the angle and slow guide of his cock drraaggiinnng against your swollen clit, the build leaving you breathless and whimpering.

His broad hand leaves your hip and lands gently on your throat, usually a precursor to sliding a thick finger into your mouth to suck on. You grip his wrist with both hands, his thick arm dwarfing yours in size easily as you feel the subtle tension in his arm, his hand gripping the column of your neck and squeezing slightly. A breathy "eh" forced from your throat as the sensation seems to heighten everything.

"Yeah, you like that sweetheart," Frank grunts, more slow drags that punch the tip of his cock into your cervix. You grip his forearm tight and squeeze your eyes shut, chasing the release swirling around the edges. Frank squeezes again, this time a little harder, and slows his pace to long, deep measured thrusts. You whine, your climax so close. Needing more of him, to be fuller.

"Want me to make you feel good, yeah sweetheart?" he asks, his tone almost pitying. You nod, whining again

"Gonna be a good girl for me then?" he asks, his cock nearly pulled out, just the tip teasing your hole now. He tightens his grip on your neck just a hair, enough to make a squirm. You nod in response to his question.

"Gonna do what I say when I say so?" he asks, inching his cock in further as his grip on your neck tightens again. Your chest is heaving, your airways compressed slightly, making every sensation floaty and dreamy. You whimper and clench your walls, nodding again.

"Gonna give me attitude when I'm takin' care of you?" he asks, sliding in deeper and gripping tighter. The action nearly floods your desperate pussy and makes your periphery vision start to blur. You couldn't feel the bed at your back or the hair tickling your neck or your earrings dangling from your ears. You only feel the sensation of Frank, claiming dominion over your body and pinning you in place, his cock in your walls and his hand on your throat. You barely manage to shake your head no at Frank's question, hugging his forearm to your chest.

"Who's in charge sweetheart?" he huffs, working to contain his own release, sinking so deeply you feel the punch of him again. His grip on your neck doesn't waver but his thumb swipes back and forth on your neck, he's practically cooing and shushes your whimpers. Your clit is swollen and achey, the smallest pressure and you'd tumble over the edge. You manage to murmur out "You Frankie" and he replies "Say it once more for me doll. Who's in charge?"

"You Daddy," you whimper and your response ignites him. He huffs out a "fuck" as he releases your neck and returns to a punishing pace all at once. The flood of stimulation returns to you in a tidal wave and it's only a moment until you're pulsing on his cock so tightly as you cum that he needs to slow his pace to acommodate.

He coos "fuck baby, you're alright. Sssh sshh, I got you," as you convulse on his cock, whimpers tumbling from your lips and your legs quaking with aftershocks. His brows furrow in concentration as he pumps you five more times, finally releasing his sticky seed in you. He pauses for a moment, panting, his hand landing softly on your mound above where his cock is tucked in you and his thumb gently massages your folds. You mewl and mumble "frankie" and reach for him before he bends to weave his arms behind your back and pull you up to him.

His cock still buried in you, he positions himself to lean on the headboard with you in his lap and you're still panting to catch your breath and draping heavy arms around his shoulders. He pulls you to his chest and lets his fingers graze on your back, planting kisses on your forehead while he tells you what a good job you did.

The stagnant, lingering aroma of musk envelops the room, overshadowing the once inviting scent of freshly brewed coffee. An old, ceramic mug, reading in bold letters, Jackson Hole, Wyoming, rests directly beside your head. Its warmth begins to fade, forgotten amidst the passionate intercourse.

You bent over the kitchen counter, vulnerable and powerless, with your hands restrained behind your back, used to his disposal, like a ragdoll, everything you had desired to be to your neighborly companion, Joel Miller.

On this particular morning, patrol schedules had entirely slipped out of your mind, expecting to wake up, wrapped in his arms and tangled in the sheets; instead, you were disappointed to find an empty bedside and a heat emitting between your thighs. You couldn't relieve this ache alone, not when your partner is downstairs, preparing for his day.

The muscles in his arms were flexing, beads of sweat descending along his lower back from the physical exertion, making his shirt cling to his torso like a second skin, though he didn't cease the smooth, steady thrust of his hips. He continues to relentlessly rut into you, just as you had so desperately begged for.

Ragged breaths descend past your lips, creating a faint layer of condensation on the counter while his thick erection stretches you apart. It felt nice to take him entirely, to know your fellow patrol member has made you into his perfect little cock sleeve. He has ruined you for any other man, swearing you'll never have a dick like this again, and you recognize that to be the truth.

"You know, sweetpea... I wonder what the community would think if they peeked in the window and saw Miss Wymoin' bein' such a naughty girl for an old man."

His naturally curved cock repeatedly strikes the deepest parts of your cunt, making tears brim within your eyes. Only capable of letting out a series of loud, sensual moans, a tantalizing melody of satisfaction.

Before you had begun this secret love affair, the single father in his late 50s had experienced quite the dry spell. He had even come to terms with the possibility of never being intimate with another individual again, and as much as he yearned for love, it was simply a late-night fantasy.

Joel would never expect a significant figure in the community, appointed to the council and trusted to uphold a respectable reputation as the future of Jackson, to act out some of his most risqué desires.

A deep growl rumbles in his throat, watching from above as motion ripples through your soft skin and knees buckle under the pressure. He wraps his arm around your body and presses his palm into your stomach, before snapping his hips to feel the bulge inside you.

"Mh, poor thing's gonna be so sore from takin' this big cock... Gonna have to put on a brave face, ain't ya, baby?"

You nod obediently, his deep, southern drawl adds fuel to the fire, residing within the pit of your stomach.

His words fall on deaf ears; you only realize afterward, in a moment of clarity, what he meant.

Johnathan, a saddle hand with an unmistakable crush, will see you in the stables today, and perhaps, his not-so-subtle approach will finally get the point across. You belong to someone else. If the hickies scattered across your neck aren't enough of a giveaway, maybe it'll be the noticeable limp in your step.

Your warmth squeezes around his cock as you approach the orgasmic threshold, practically withering beneath him when the sweet release you'd been longing for washes over your being.

“Oh fuck, that’s it... That's it, baby. You did so well for me." Joel praises, lifting you upright against his chest, feeling your body spasm with aftershocks. He kisses along the valley of your neck, provoking a small, desirable sigh past your lips.

He reaches between your bodies and gently slides out of your tight pussy, before leaning down to pull your panties up, causing his release, splattered upon your abdomen, to smear across the soft material.

You shift your body to face him, almost instantly activating a soft, pleading expression, used to your advantage at times like these, but as if you won’t get everything your heart desires.

“You wanna be of service?" He questions, cocking his head to the side, and staring into the depths of your eyes.

It was absolutely filthy how much he was enjoying this…

You nod softly, lacing around his magnificent erection and rolling down his foreskin, examining every single feature of the reddish, near-purple tip, dribbling out a white bead of pre-cum. He was already glistening with your slick when you began stroking him, feeling his hips jerk into you with a raw, primal desire.

You scoop some arousal onto your fingers and bring them between your lips, letting the salty yet sweet cum hit your tongue, listening to him groan in disbelief before grasping your jaw and capturing you in a feverish kiss.

He was smooth and tender to the touch, naturally resistant to the dry summer air, moving with an intoxicating rhythm. He slips past your lips and teases the roof of your mouth, savoring his essence on your tongue.

In a possessive manner, he wraps his hand around your throat, grounding you in place as desire flows through his veins. "F-finish on me, Joel~" you whimper against his lips, pushing him over the edge, feeling his warm release shoot across your pelvic region.

He let out a low, gruttural sound, caught in the intensity of his orgasm before inevitably bowing his head into the crook of your neck, tired breaths slowly synchronizing with yours.

-

The dishcloth used to clean each other now lies, discarded on the counter. You lean back in a flannel, sipping cold coffee as you observe Joel, slinging the backpack and rifle over his shoulder, a weight of responsibility you are all too familiar with.

"I'll give you a nice massage later." You promise sweetly as you step over and gently rub his lower back, aware that he may be stiff from this morning, not to mention the aches and pains he gets after patrol.

"I'll be fine, darlin', don't you worry your pretty little head. Just take it easy today, 'right?" He reassures you with a wink, making a smirk spread across your face.

You follow him to the entryway and lean your shoulder against the wall, rocking your foot on the floorboard. Unbeknownst to you, this relaxed posture accentuates your natural physique. Quite a sight for the older man, who glances over his shoulder with his hand lingering on the door handle, wishing he could stay longer. He could get used to spending the rest of his days with a pretty thing like you.

"Mhm, sure thing. I'll make Johnathan do all the hard work..." You conceal a cheeky grin behind the rim of your mug. His tongue darted out across his lips, realizing you'd caught on to his jealousy amid sex.

A loud, abrupt knock interrupts his thoughts, making him flinch and swing his head around, unlocking the door to be greeted by the last person he wanted to see, his younger brother, Tommy Miller.

The porch creaks under his worn leather boots, shifting back while he lowers his fist to hook upon his belt.

"Well, I'll be damned, where the hell have ya been? Everybody's been waitin' on you. I finally had to send the patrol team-" Tommy furrows his brows, diverting his attention toward an unexpected sight.

You give a small, cordial wave, and almost recoil in embarrassment. There was no possible way to pass this off as a "friendly interaction," especially when you were standing in your panties and a wrinkled flannel you had plucked from his laundry basket.

“Oh, uh. My apologies, I didn't expect you to have company over."

He tips the brim of his vintage cowboy hat in a classic salute, and those dark brown eyes catch a glimpse of your soft, supple thighs in the gesture, making a fevorish heat blossom in your chest. You had to admit, the Millers had a charming way about them, but you possessed the prize stallion.  

"Just get movin', will ya?" Joel mutters in irritation, knowing from the shit-eating grin on his brother's face that he'll probably never hear the end of this.

Just before he stepped outside, he turned toward you with an arm extending outward, fingers outstretched, waving you on in a silent request for your embrace. It wasn't long before you strode over, standing on the balls of your feet to kiss him gently, while driving your hand through his soft, gray curls.

In the distance, Tommy leans into the wooden porch post with arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head in pure amusement. His irritation had cooled down. Infact, he was impressed and astonished, never thinking he would see the day when the hardened man roped into a relationship.

Joel Miller Smut Taglist: @cutesyscreenname @milly-louise @joeldjarin @bohnerrific69

Reader’s biggest fear is losing Roman. He’s fucked up and he shows affection in strange ways, but he’s the only adult she has in her life that gives a shit about her. The only parental figure she’s got, tbh. It scares the shit out of her to think about not having her daddy figure, however weird and bizarre he is sometimes.

Clark looks up when you kneel, his face quickly taken by a smirk. It looks funny on him, missing any of the smugness you might see when he’s Superman against one of his boggling villains. He seems boyishly pleased before you’ve so much as opened your mouth. 

“Are you busy?” you murmur softly. 

“Oh, never too busy for you,” he says, rolling it around in his mouth as he places his book upside down on the nightstand. 

“No? I don’t have to persuade you to put things down?” you ask. 

He really couldn’t look happier. Like, he’s ecstatic rather than lustful, though this is often how it starts with him. 

“Nothing in there could be as interesting as you are,” Clark says. He pats the bed in front of him. “Come here? There’s more than enough room for you.” 

You cannot crawl sexily, won’t kid yourself into thinking so, instead walking carefully on your knees until you’re in touching distance, settling quietly, carefully. 

“You’re such a treasure,” he says, more to himself than you as his fingers brush your knee. “Have you always worn stuff like this?” 

“The shifts?” you ask, pinching the fabric between your fingers. “No, not really.” 

“No?” 

“No. I bought a couple when we first started dating…” You flush at the idea of telling him something like this and then tell him anyhow, because you might be the shyest thing he’s ever seen, but you’re also undoubtedly in love with him, and craving to have him in confidence is a constant. “It was exciting, when you asked me to be your girl,” —that exact phrase— “I went online that night to look at babydolls and, uh, new panties and things, I never had to before. I liked thinking about it.” 

His fingers work further down your thigh. “Never had to?” 

“No. You’re my first boyfriend. You know that already.” 

Clark soothes away your puzzled tone with a big hand spread out over your thigh. Shaved again. He rubs at you searchingly, his brow slightly crinkled. “I’d have you in a sack, if you wanted that.”

You laugh. 

He smiles. “I would. You could wear full briefs to bed.”

“Yeah, cos that’d be sexy. Me in my jammies, you’d love that.”

Clark smarts, indignant. “I would.”

You laugh again, wrapping your fingers around his thick wrist. “Sure.”

“Honey, I would. I’d love to see you in your pajamas. I didn’t realise you had pajamas, I– stupidly, I thought this was what you’d usually wear to bed.” 

“I’m supposed to be sexy.” 

You hadn’t meant to say it quite so abruptly. Clark wasn’t expecting it either, his lips parted enough to catch a slip of his tongue. Just as abruptly, his teeth snap and his mouth closes, both hands finding yours. “You are,” he says, his mouth such a serious line that your heart feels like it’s constricting in your chest for a moment. “Without trying, you are. With effort too, don’t get me wrong, I– I don’t think I’ve ever had so much blood in one place–”

“Clark,” you whine, unbidden. 

“–some nights, your dresses, those lacy skirts and stuff, that’s all beautiful. You’re beautiful. But don’t think you have to dress up every night for my benefit, huh?” Your face goes so hot you can feel it in your ears, ‘cos his voice is like satin, talking to you like you need it gentle. “I’d just as happily have you in one of my old t-shirts. Or your jammies.” 

“Why are you asking me about this?” you deflect. 

He closes his hands around your wrists with a light squeeze. “You won’t let me in the bathroom when you’re in there most the time, but every night you stand in the door in one of these lovely things and I was just… wondering, I guess. I can be really awkward. I wanted to know if I was overstepping with the bathroom thing, but. Anyways. I have my answer.”

“What? What answer?” 

“You have a complex. I’ve given you a complex,” he says decidedly. 

“You did not.”

“I did. Clearly, I haven’t made it obvious how much I want you at all hours, in anything, and you assume you have to dress up to earn my affection.” Clark dips his head forward, a sweet, dark curl kissing his forehead. “Tell me you like the lingerie, at least.” 

“I do.” You realise you can tell him more, and decide to trust him with a little more truthfulness. “I don’t love shaving my legs every night.”

“No?” His eyebrows rise. “Then don’t.”

“Yeah? You won’t care?”

“Of course I won’t.” 

You hold your arms toward him and he does the same, taking your hips into his hands as you begin the melding ascent into his lap. Clark folds you into him nicely. “And you really don't care if I stop wearing the lacy panties?”

“Honestly? I assumed you were spoiling me. I had no idea you thought I’d care about them otherwise. Wear anything. Wear nothing.”

You press your nose to his neck, withholding a sound too close to a moan at his smell and general solidness beneath you. His arms are a vice around you that you’d rather die than lose. Especially now he’s letting you say goodbye to headrush-showers and the two hour delicates wash on cold. “Promise?” you murmur.

“I promise.” 

He’s seated at the desk, half-shadowed by the slats of late sunlight cutting through the blinds. Shoulders hunched, brow furrowed. A pencil rests in his hand, scribbling something over a worn notebook, while another stack of paperwork looms to the side. You can just make out the twitch of his jaw as he concentrates, the slow tension in his arm.

You hate seeing him like this. Stuck behind numbers, repairs, shifts, rotations—every little thing Jackson leans on him for. You know he’s proud to be useful here, to have a place. But when his name’s not on the rotation list, Joel finds a way to overfill the empty hours.

Your boots are soft against the floorboards as you walk in. He doesn’t notice at first, too absorbed in whatever notes he’s making. You step closer, then lean down and set the still-steaming cup of coffee near his elbow.

"Figured you could use this."

Joel’s head lifts slowly, pencil pausing mid-sentence. That line between his brows softens the second he sees you, like the weight of his thoughts sloughs off in a single glance.

"Well, look at you," he murmurs, lips tugging into a grin that’s lopsided and warm. "Ain’t you the prettiest damn thing I’ve seen all day."

You laugh quietly, nudging his arm. “You say that even when I bring you bad coffee.”

"This ain’t bad." He lifts the mug and takes a long sip, then hums low. “It’s you bringin’ it that makes it good.”

The compliment lands heavier than you expect, settling warm in your chest. His voice is scratchy—he’s been talking too little today, you can tell—and his eyes linger on you longer than they should for someone still technically on the clock.

“You been here long?” you ask, brushing a few stray papers aside to sit on the edge of his desk.

He leans back in the chair, nodding. “Since early. Got caught up in some generator schedules, then Tommy asked me to double-check the patrol rotation list again. Just wanted a quiet space to think.”

You raise a brow. “So naturally you buried yourself in half the town’s logistics.”

His grin returns, smaller this time. “Keeps me outta trouble.”

You hum, letting your fingers trail over the edge of the desk. “Well. I came to make sure you were still breathing. Coffee’s step one.”

His gaze drops, flicks from your lips to your thighs, then slowly back up again.

"And what’s step two, sweetheart?"

Your breath catches slightly. There’s heat behind those words, slow and steady, the kind that creeps up on you until you’re already burning.

“I guess that depends on what you need,” you say softly, reaching out to smooth a hand over his shoulder. “You’ve been in here so long, figured you might be getting a little…tense.”

His smile fades into something darker, quieter. His hand comes up, fingers brushing the outside of your knee, dragging slowly upward until he reaches the bare skin where your skirt hitches slightly.

“I’m always tense, darlin’. And you know exactly how to make it worse.”

Your breath hitches again.

Joel pushes back the chair just enough to part your knees, sliding himself between them until your thighs bracket his hips. His hands are warm and rough on your legs, thumbs stroking absently against the soft skin there. The room suddenly feels smaller, the afternoon light slanting over the desk and catching in the flecks of grey in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes don’t leave yours.

“You wear this skirt for me?” he murmurs.

Your lips part, heartbeat fluttering.

He smirks faintly. “Yeah. I know you did.”

His fingers dig in slightly, tugging your hips forward so you have no choice but to lean into him, your chest brushing his. He tilts his head, nose brushing yours, lips barely grazing yours as he speaks.

“You walk in here all sweet, bringin’ me coffee, sittin’ on my desk like a little temptation…and now you expect me to keep workin’?”

You feel his breath on your mouth, the way his voice rumbles low in his chest.

“Joel…”

“Mm?” His hand glides higher, underneath the hem of your skirt, fingers teasing over the soft lace of your panties.

"You gonna tell me you didn’t come here hopin’ for this?"

You can’t answer. Not when his thumb strokes slowly between your thighs, not when his other hand cradles the back of your neck and pulls your mouth to his. The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way. It turns hungry. Desperate. His mouth opens against yours, tongue sliding deep as you clutch the fabric of his flannel shirt in both hands.

He groans into the kiss. “You got no idea what you do to me.”

You gasp as he pulls back just enough to flip you around and push you gently down against the desk, your palms bracing against the wood.

“Joel—” you start, breath catching.

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs. “Gonna make you feel good. Right here. Just like this.”

He pushes your skirt up over your hips, and you hear the soft metallic sound of his belt unbuckling, the low rasp of a zipper. Then his hand smooths over your ass and squeezes, rough and firm.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, voice almost reverent while pulling the lace aside. “Look at this fuckin’ view. Bent over my desk. You know how crazy you make me?”

Your lips part, the heat between your thighs pulsing with anticipation.

He leans over your back, mouth brushing your ear. “You stay quiet now. Wouldn’t wanna get caught…”

His hips press forward in one long, hungry stroke, and your body opens for him like it was made to. You feel the slow drag of him, thick and perfect, and your hands brace against the desk as you exhale a moan that’s half relief, half disbelief at just how good he feels.

Joel groans low behind you, voice all gravel and heat. “Jesus Christ, baby…”

He sinks deeper, hips flush with your ass, one large hand steady on your lower back. The other slides up your spine, palm spreading wide between your shoulder blades, grounding you there. Holding you still. His.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he murmurs, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “You—bent over my desk, beggin’ for it.”

“I wasn’t begging,” you whisper, breathless.

“Not yet,” he mutters, pulling out slowly—too slowly—then slamming back in, hard enough to jolt your hips against the edge of the desk.

You gasp, nails scraping the wood.

“There it is,” he growls, hips snapping forward again. “That little sound you make when I get you deep.”

Your skirt’s bunched around your waist, his flannel shirt brushing your back with every thrust, the thick heat of his body pressing over you. Every movement drives his cock deeper, fills you more completely than should be possible.

And the sounds—God, the sounds—wet and rhythmic, the slap of skin on skin, the rough breaths against your ear, the low groan he lets out every time you clench around him.

“You feel that?” he pants. “Feel how soaked you are for me? Feel how deep I go?”

You nod against the desk, mouth parted, eyes rolling.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ me like you don’t want me to leave.” He fucks you harder, deeper. “You want me to stay right there, huh? Stuff you full?”

“Joel,” you gasp, voice half-broken.

He slows just enough to grind in deep, hips circling with filthy precision. You sob out a moan, knees trembling.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips against your neck. “Take it. Just like that. Take every goddamn inch.”

Your hands scramble for something to hold onto, anything, but he’s relentless. His hands slide under your blouse, cupping your breasts through the fabric. He pinches your nipples just hard enough to make you whimper.

“Thought I was gonna behave,” he mutters. “Thought I could keep my hands off you for five fuckin’ minutes.”

“You didn’t even last one.”

“’Cause you walked in here like a fuckin’ dream,” he snarls. “You know what you do to me, baby? You know how hard it is to stay good when you look at me with those fuckin’ eyes?”

His teeth graze your shoulder, and his pace quickens, hips pistoning into you with purpose. Each thrust is brutal, delicious, deep enough to knock every coherent thought from your head.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he growls. “Right here. Right on this desk.”

“Joel,” you cry out again, eyes squeezed shut.

“Yeah, that’s right. Say my name, baby. Let the whole damn building know who’s fuckin’ you this good.”

You’re close. So close it hurts. Your thighs are shaking, body coiled tight, nerve endings screaming.

And Joel knows it.

“You’re gettin’ close, ain’t you?” he pants. “I can feel it. You gonna come for me?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“You gonna come all over my cock while I fuck you in my office like some dirty little secret?”

Your head nods frantically. “Please—please—Joel—”

He growls again, slamming into you, every inch of him thick and hot and perfect. His hand leaves your breast to slide down between your thighs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, filthy circles.

“Let go for me,” he whispers. “Come for me, baby. Show me how good I fuck you.”

That’s all it takes.

You shatter around him, crying out into the crook of your elbow, body clenching so hard it pulls a strangled groan from his chest. He doesn’t stop—keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own high while your body trembles beneath him.

“Fuck, baby—fuck, I’m gonna—” His voice breaks. “Where do you want it? Tell me.”

You manage a breathless, “Inside.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ—”

Joel drives into you with a deep, guttural sound and spills into you, cock twitching as he presses in to the hilt. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, forehead pressed to your back, his body shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, the only sound is the both of you breathing—heavy, ragged, stunned.

You don’t move. You can’t.

Joel’s hands slide down your sides, gentler now. His lips press a kiss between your shoulder blades. “You okay, darlin’?”

You nod against the desk, body still quaking. “Holy shit, Joel.”

He laughs, low and wrecked, still buried deep inside you.

“Yeah,” he says. “Holy shit is right.”

You shift slightly, and he hisses as you tighten around him.

“Don’t move yet,” he murmurs. “Just—stay there a minute. Let me enjoy this.”

You smile, eyes closed. “This was not what I had in mind when I brought you coffee.”

He kisses your shoulder again. “Best coffee break of my life.”

——

Joel’s still inside you, breathing heavy against your back, hands soft now, skimming your waist with that same reverence he always shows when it’s just the two of you. He presses a slow kiss to your spine, murmuring something warm and low that you’re too blissed-out to register.

And then, the office door swings open with a clang.

You freeze.

Joel goes rigid behind you.

And Tommy’s voice—sharp, casual, too damn close—cuts into the air like a gunshot.

“Hey, Joel, you seen the new—”

He stops.

The silence is deafening.

Your face flames hotter than the summer sun outside Jackson. You’re still bent over Joel’s desk, skirt hitched up around your hips, his body pressed flush behind you, still inside you.

Joel’s hand flies to your waist, yanking you up as fast as he can manage without slipping out. You let out a startled gasp as he drags you back against his chest, his other arm grabbing for a half-folded blanket on the back of his chair and yanking it around you both.

Tommy, eyes wide and mouth already twisting, takes a full two seconds before he spins away, palm up like he can block out the memory.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Joel!”

You bury your face in your hands, body still shaking—but not from the orgasm anymore.

Joel lets out a grunt that sounds somewhere between panic and misery. He’s still hard inside you, still holding you as if that will somehow hide what Tommy has very, very clearly seen.

You can hear the shuffle of Tommy’s boots as he turns again—just slightly, like he’s tempted to shout more but not quite brave enough to face what he just walked in on.

“Are you serious right now? In the damn office? You couldn’t wait till you got home like a normal person?”

Joel grits his teeth, voice tight with humiliation. “Tommy. Get the fuck out.”

“I am out!” he snaps, though he’s still somewhere in the doorway. “But Jesus, I coulda walked in with Benji. You think I wanna explain to my six-year-old why his uncle’s pants are around his fuckin’ ankles?!”

You peek over Joel’s shoulder, heart pounding in your chest. Tommy’s got his hand shielding his eyes, but his ears are beet red.

Joel lets out a breath like it’s the only thing keeping him from exploding. His voice is a warning growl now. “Close the door.”

Tommy huffs—muttering a string of curses as he finally slams the door shut.

The silence returns. This time, thick with mortification.

Joel lets his head fall against your shoulder, arms still tight around you.

“Goddamn,” he breathes.

You let out a slow, shaky breath. “That… wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Darlin’, I swear—” Joel leans in, pressing his forehead to the side of your face. “I would’ve rather walked through a horde of clickers buck-naked than have my brother see my bare ass in the office.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. It bubbles out of you suddenly, helpless and wild, like the only possible reaction to something this deeply, painfully awkward.

Joel groans. “Don’t. Don’t you dare laugh.”

“You said clickers,” you giggle, gasping for air. “Oh my God. I’m never showing my face in that house again.”

He groans again, gently pulling out of you at last, guiding you toward the edge of the desk with careful hands. You fumble with your skirt while he tucks himself away with a speed born of pure panic.

“Think he saw—?” you start.

“He saw everything, sweetheart.”

You groan. “I want to die.”

Joel grabs a ragged tissue from his drawer and mutters, “Don’t worry. I’ll die first. He’s never gonna let this go.”

You’re both still fixing yourselves when Joel suddenly straightens, tense again. “Shit. Shit. I think he’s still out there.”

“Joel,” you whisper, wide-eyed. “Don’t open the—”

Too late. Joel pulls open the door.

And Tommy’s right there, arms crossed, a look on his face that says he’s ready.

“Enjoy your ‘paperwork’?” he says with a slow grin.

Joel slams the door again with a grunt, but Tommy’s voice keeps going, loud and unforgiving through the wood.

“I mean, I knew you were settlin’ into your role here, but damn, Joel. Didn’t know Jackson’s new project was breakin’ in the office furniture.”

Joel runs a hand over his face and groans. “I hate him.”

You snort again, biting your lip as you try to smooth your hair down.

“You know I have to tell Maria,” Tommy calls, practically laughing now. “She’ll want to steam clean the desk, probably with holy water.”

Joel groans so loud it echoes.

“Do not tell her,” he shouts back.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell her. I’ll just hint. ‘Course, she’s smart enough to put it together once she hears who was moanin’ loud enough to echo off the water tower.”

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from howling.

“Go away, Tommy!” Joel yells, glaring at the door like he could will his brother out of existence.

“Can’t! Got work to do,” Tommy says, chipper now. “Just gimme five minutes to wipe your handprints off the edge of the desk—oh wait, I can’t, because you were balls deep in—”

Joel lunges for the door.

You catch his arm, laughing so hard you’re doubled over, tears in your eyes. “Joel. Joel. It’s not worth the jail time.”

He glares at the door. “He’s dead to me.”

Tommy’s already walking off down the hall, calling out one final jab as his voice fades: “You better Lysol everything!”

The silence settles once more.

You glance at Joel. His face is red, his jaw tight.

But his eyes flick to yours—and slowly, his expression shifts. A reluctant smile curves his mouth.

“You think this is funny?” he asks, stepping closer.

You shrug, still breathless. “A little.”

He grabs your waist, pulling you against him. “You know I’m never gonna live this down, right? Every damn council meeting, he’s gonna bring this up. Every cookout. Every time I sit at my own damn desk.”

“Guess we’ll have to find a new one to christen,” you whisper.

Joel groans again—but this time, there’s heat behind it. He kisses you once, slow and deep.

Then he smirks.

“Next time, door stays locked.”

“What else is on the list?” Carmen pushed the cart through the aisles of the grocery store, tossing the figs into the basket. 

“Black garlic.” You marked through the scratchy handwriting that belonged to Carmen, pen tapping on the small notepad. “Never heard of black garlic.” 

“Really?” Carmen hummed in amusement, a tiny smile that was soft but warm- just for you. “You’ve had it before.” 

“Have I?” You lifted a brow. “You’ve been sneaking things in my food, hm?” 

“Tryna expand your palette, babe.” Carmen scoffed, pulling you in by your waist into him. 

You laughed, looking down at your list, squirming when his fingers ghosted over your sides. “Oh, shoot, I forgot we need detergent.” You hiss, looking at the bottle of Tide in the cart beside you. “I’m gonna go grab that, and you get the rest on the list?” 

Carmen nodded, taking the pad and pen out of your hand. “I got it. I’ll be over here, alright?” He nods towards the produce. 

You head in the opposite direction, spilling off in the frozen aisles to head back towards the cleaning section, snatching the detergent off the shelf. You’d have to run by the little apothecary shop down on Main to get more of the scent boosters you liked- that Carmen liked. He liked how your sheets always smelled when you first started dating, soft and clean and sweet somehow? Fuck, he wasn’t even sure how, but when you moved in with him, that smell lingered into his clothes, his sheet. He’d catch whiffs during the day at work, a calming breeze that grounded him, kept his mind rushing back to you. 

You scanned the produce section, finding the familiar head of curls tucked under a Bears hat. You had bought him that hat, a little playful joke since some customers were always asking if the restaurant was named after the team. It infuriated Carmen, annoyed him to no end, but the hat? He rolled his eyes, muttering something about you being “real funny” in a sarcastic tone, but he wore it anyway. It was a nice hat, what can he say?

Carmen was on the end, a grip on his basket that had you a little suspect, until you saw the other basket, parked next to his, a girl leaning towards Carmen. Your heart dropped, a spike of jealousy, hot and blinding shooting through your spine. 

“...You know I meant to stop by the restaurant last week, but I was so busy with rounds. You were closed by the time I got off.” The girl bragged, loud enough so the ones around her would be impressed. You wanted to scoff, did she not know this was Chicago? 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You could hear the edge in Carmen’s voice, and not the usual one that accompanied with unprompted social interaction. This was one harder, a strain that had you suspicious at the defensiveness. 

“Hey, Carmy,” You muttered, stepping beside him. He jumped when you did, eyes wide and scared like he’d been caught. “I got the detergent.” You placed it in the basket, trying to avoid the eyes of the girl in front of you. 

“Oh, uh, that’s great. Thank you.” Carmen’s hand found your waist easily, but you didn’t miss the way his hand rubbed on his jeans first, wiping the sweat off. 

“Hi,” The girl said, a tight lipped, forced smile that you knew all too well. “I’m Claire.” 

You gave it back, a snarl and cutting eyes, letting your name slide through your clenched teeth- a threat. “Yeah, uh, Claire and I…we, uh, used to go to school together.” Carmen stuttered.           

“Really? That’s it, Bear?” Claire laughed. Your spine straightened, the primal urge to ram your cart into hers so it sent the handle flying into her stomach because she used your nickname- maybe she’d break a rib. 

Your eyes cut to Carmen’s, lips rolling into a pursed pucker. Carmen flushed, red cheeks that spread to his ears, down to his neck. “Well, I mean, Claire’s real close with my family too.” Carmen offered, looking down at you, his heart dropping when he did. Fuck, you were pissed. 

“Richie and Mikey used to call me Claire Bear all the time.” She laughed, a forced, mean girl-esque laugh. “Used to tease Carmy for always drawing me.” 

“Oh?” You quipped, turning to Carmen with narrowed eyes. “Well, that’s funny. You must’ve been really close to get the Bear nickname too.” You hummed, an edge to your voice that had Carmen’s stomach dropping. He felt like he was going to be sick, under your gaze, hard eyes that questioned and challenged him. 

“Oh, yeah, we were always really close, weren’t we, Carmen?” Claire batted her eyes at him, and for a moment, you had to grip the basket. Stop yourself from slamming her head into the fridge. 

Carmen looked like he might pass out, palms rubbing against his jeans, eyes bouncing from you to her. “Y’know we should catch up sometime, Carmy. I’d love to see Sugar and Richie.” 

“Yeah, I-I’m not sure what they’re-” 

“-You know what.” You snipped, teeth ground tight. “I think I’ll finish shopping, and you two can catch up, alright?” You snatch the list out of Carmen’s hand. “It was so nice to meet you, Claire.” 

Carmen can feel your anger even after you stomp away, whizzing into the next aisle, slinging the basket with so much fury the detergent slides and he cringes as he thinks about the plums that probably got crushed. 

“Uh-oh,” Claire snickers. “Looks like I got you in trouble.” 

“Yeah- I mean, no, she’s just… We have plans later, so I gotta go. Tell your family I said hello.” Carmen nods, barely hearing her reply before he’s chasing you down the aisles. 

“Baby, hey, c’mon-” 

“Don’t.” You hissed, shoving Carmen’s hand off you. “Go back and talk to Claire Bear.” You snarled, voice rising in pitch to mock the name. 

“Don’t do this.” Carmen’s stomach turned, twisting with that familiar twinge of anxiety. His eyes were already darting towards the far end of the store, feeling like he needed to get a bottle of Pepto… maybe two. 

“Do what?” You snapped, huffing at him. “Honestly, Carmen, how would you feel if I ran into one of my old exes and they were talkin’ to me like that, huh?” 

“She’s not an ex-” 

“-Oh? She isn’t?” You deadpanned, glaring at Carmen. He faltered, eyes darting from your gaze just for a moment. “You’re such a fucking liar, Carmen, I’m not stupid.” You huffed, shoving the cart. 

“Hey,” Carmen snapped, heavy hand landing on the cart’s handle to stop it. “Cut it out, alright?” 

That only made you bristle even more, bouts of fury that spiked through your body. You wanted to scream, cause a scene and storm out, leaving him mortified and standing there with everyone staring at him. A few years ago, you would have. 

Instead, you slammed the rest of the list into the seat of the cart. “Give me the keys.” You huffed. 

“What? You can’t-” 

“-I’m going to sit in the fucking car, Carmen. Give me the fucking keys.” You growl, louder this time, turning the head of a passerby. 

Carmen flushed, furiously, shaking hands fishing his keys out of his pocket, dropping them in your hand. “D-Do you need anything else not on the list?” He asked softly, a hope that you might soften at his tone. 

You didn’t reply, turning on your heel instead, stomping out of the sliding doors. Carmen felt his stomach turn, lurching in his throat, heart hammering so hard sweat was forming at his hairline under the hat. He definitely needed that Pepto now. 

“She’s just a friend! A childhood friend, that-that I don’t even talk to!” Carmen huffed, his voice rising. You had been on him, furious and accusing from the moment he got in the car, all the way home, carrying the groceries up the steps of the apartment. 

“That you fucked!” Your voice shrilled loud enough Carmen flinched, knowing the neighbors would hear. “You fucked her!” 

“I-I… like one time!” Carmen stuttered, throwing his hands out in exasperation. He set the detergent with a heavy thud on the counter, glaring at it. It was the detergent’s fucking fault this happend, Carmen thought. He should have just gone with you or gotten the detergent instead- fuck, why did he have to run into Claire out of all people. 

“I knew it!” You smacked your hand against the cabinet. “I fuckin’ knew it! God, you are such a liar, Carmen!” 

“How did I lie? How? Hey, get back here, I’m talkin’ to you!” Carmen had reached his breaking point, beyond irritated and frustrated. 

“Fuck you, Carmen. Just a friend, my fuckin’ ass.” You growled, pushing the door to your bedroom open so quickly it hit the wall, the door stopper buzzing angrily. 

“Can you- Can you just listen to me, please?” Carmen took a grounding breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with clammy, uncomfortable hands. 

“Listen to you what? Listen to you tell me how you’ve known Claire Bear your whole life? And how the two of you have sooo much history together?” You sneer, teeth baring in a sort of growl that made Carmen’s heart spike with anger…maybe fear… maybe both?

“We don’t have… Baby, I-I really don’t fuckin’ know what you want from me here, alright? I don’t like Claire.” Carmen huffed. 

“Anymore.” You muttered, bitterly. 

“Yeah, anymore. I don’t- wait.” Carmen held up his hand, realization washing over him. “Wait a fuckin’ second. Are you- Are you jealous right now?” 

“Shut up, Carmen-” 

“-Oh my God! Holy shit! You’re jealous?” His tone was far too light, nearly mocking, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Why the fuck are you jealous?” 

“Oh, fuck you, Carmen! Like you wouldn’t be jealous if my ex was all over me like that in front of you!” You countered bitterly, satisfied at the way his jaw flexed at the thought. 

“Yeah, but your ex doesn’t have you, I do.” Carmen said, an edge in his voice that had ice shooting down your spine, a tingle spreading between your legs. He took a step forward, so close to you, his eyes were piercing into you, cutting right through your soul. “And Claire or-or anyone else doesn't have me, alright? You fuckin’ got me.” 

You tried to stay strong, keep your facade up for a little longer, not let him know how your knees were buckling under his stare. “Still, Carm,” Your voice was softer now, on the edge of a whine. “‘S not fair you let her talk to you like that in front of me.” 

“What did you want me to do?” Carmen scoffed, his hand finding your hip. “She only talked like that because she knew I was with you. Wanted to get under your skin, and you fuckin’ let her.” 

“I did not-” 

“Oh?” Carmen’s tone lilted, leaving you blushing furiously under his challenging gaze. “That’s why you threw a whole goddam fit? Fuckin’ leavin’ the store? Bitchin’ me out the whole way home?” 

You pouted, huffing at the meanness in his tone. Carmen’s hand caught your jaw, pulling your gaze back to him. “You acted bad, and for what? I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone but you, you know that.” Your cheeks burned with heat, hoping he couldn’t see how flustered he was making you, scolding you like this. Oh, you were fucking throbbing. 

“Even when you’re mean to me like that. You know I only want you. Don’t insult me like that, thinkin’ I’d ever want someone else, you got me?” Carmen snapped. 

“Yes, Carmen.” You muttered, eyes rolling to the floor. 

“Who?” Carmen growled, jerking your chin back to him. 

You blushed, thighs rubbing together. You knew what he wanted, what was coming. “Yes, Daddy.” You muttered, pitch rising in your tone to that light airy voice you used when you played, reserved just for him. 

Carmen hummed satisfied, letting his hand slide down your jaw, fingers curling and tilting your chin upwards towards him. “Why would you think I wanted anyone else, hm?” Carmen rasped, lips brushing over yours but not giving into you yet- teasing you. His free hand slid down your waist, slowly, pinky toying with the edge of your leggings. “You know you’re it for me. Don’t you?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” You hummed, his hand sneaking under the stretchy elastic of your pants, sliding closer and closer to where you needed him most. 

Carmen’s lips slid over your soft skin, finally pressing to the corner of your mouth. His fingers cupping your mound, sliding over your clothed slit teasingly. “Think I need to remind you, hm? D’you forget? That’s it?” Carmen rasped, pointer finger pressing against the cotton of your panties, circling over your clit. 

You gasped, clawing at his shoulders, his lips trailing down your jaw, free hand moving to hold you by the back of your neck, keeping you still while you squirmed against his touch. “Think I need to remind you, baby.” Carmen growled, the vibrations from his voice muffled on your skin, sending shockwaves to your core. “That what I need t’do, huh?” 

“Yes.” You whined, nasally and desperate, abdomen already clenching at the way he was working your clit. “Please.” You begged. 

“Please, what? Huh? Who’re you talkin’ to?” Carmen hummed, teeth grazing over the sensitive spot on your neck that had you lurching, knees buckling at the combined sensations. 

“Please, Daddy.” You panted, eyes rolling back when he licked over your neck, fingers pressing harder, rubbing tighter circles around your clit. 

You could feel how hard Carmen was, bulge rubbing against your hip, trying to satisfy his own throbbing. Your nails sunk into his skin, sure you’d leave marks, but you were sure he wouldn’t care. “You want me to take care of you? Want me to show you?” Carmen asked, so sweetly it made you gush, clenching around nothing, desperate for him to fill you up. 

“Yes, please, Daddy. Please.” You shuddered, a strangled breathy moan falling past your lips. “I need it so bad, please.” 

Carmen’s pace picked up furiously, a groan leaving his lips when he sucked at your sensitive skin there, hand tightening around the back of your neck to keep you in place. You could feel your legs shake, Carmen’s pace steadying and keeping tight circles around your clit, sending you reeling and jerking with every graze of his tongue, clinging to him while you fell apart- too easily. He did this to you too easily, knew you too well so he could. 

Carmen’s hand pulled out of your pants, your panties soaked with your own slick, some coating his fingers where you leaked through the fabric. Carmen let them pass in front of you, eyes locked to yours when he slipped them in his mouth, your breath hitching when he cleaned your release off his fingers. 

“Out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I want anyone else.” Carmen’s eyes darkened, holding your gaze in a menacing way. “Nobody tastes fuckin’ better than you, are you crazy? Thinkin’ I’d want someone else.” Carmen scoffed, leaving you shuddering, still reeling from your own high. 

“Take those clothes off and get on the bed. I’ll show you who you belong to. Who I belong to.” Carmen’s head jerked towards the bed. 

You scrambled towards it, shoving off your legging and peeling off clothes, tossing them into the corner of the room. You were slick, still pulsing from moments before, lying back on the edge of the bed with parted legs. The sick click of your own wetness filling the room when you spread yourself- oh, Carmen was sure he was going to pass out, looking at you spread and wet and waiting for him. All for him. If it wasn’t for the near painful throbbing of his cock, he would have devoured you, made you cum over and over and over on his tongue until his mouth was drenched with you, your scent filling his nose. Another time, he decided, pumping himself a few times. 

“You know, you really piss me off sayin’ shit like that.” Carmen huffed, pushing his hair back with his hand, inked fingers running through those blonde curls that were your weakness.

You look at him, feeling the fat head of his cock rubbing through your folds, teasing you already. “Actin’ like I’d ever want somebody else. Gettin’ jealous and for what, huh? Just actin’ out.” Carmen leaned down, folding his body so it was over yours, his face inches from your own. “You know you’re the only one for me. Only one I’d ever want.” 

He didn’t give you a chance to reply, pushing in deeply in one swift movement, filling you entirely with his length. You gasped, clawing at his shoulder blades until he was flush against you, your breath stammering, eyes rolling back at the stretch. 

Carmen waited, feeling you relax around him until he moved, a hard snap of his hips, unforgiving and painfully slow, rolling into you. You whined, a high pitched gasp, Carmen’s lips pressing to your wrist gently. He let his hips roll, getting into a steady, hard pace that left you drooling, eyes rolling back at each calculated jab to the sweet spot inside of you. The way you were clenching, Carmen knew he wasn’t going to last long. 

“Thinkin’ I’d want somebody else,” Carmen scoffed between gritted teeth, swallowing back the groan in the back of his throat at the way your pussy was strangling him right now. “I told you a million- shit- a million times before, baby. You’re it for me. You got that?” 

“Y-Yes, Carmy.” You shuddered, eyes already glossing over, mind numbing and reeling all at once. Your legs were shaking, burning already with another build up of pleasure. Carmen’s hips snapped, leaving you crying out, your own moans bouncing off the walls. 

Carmen chose not to correct you, muscles tightening in his legs and abs, trying to keep himself from spilling too soon. He knew you were close, could see it in your eyes, the rounding of your mouth. Leaning down, Carmen buried himself back into your neck, pushed into your skin. His own soft whines muffled against you, leaving you soaring with adoration, swimming in pleasure. 

“I don’t want anyone else but you.” Carmen admitted, hidden in the slick skin of your neck, a much softer admission than anything before. It was sincere, leaving you burning with heat, shaking as the tight coil in your tummy unraveled. 

Carmen felt you gush over him, wetting the hair at the base of his pelvis, before he pushed himself back up, pounding hard and deep inside of you to finish himself off. Hot breath hitting your neck, tiny whines and groans of pleasure buzzing in your ear before he finished, spilling inside of you with long, slow strokes. 

Carmen collapsed on top of you, his own mind racing and cloudy, chest heaving against yours. You sighed, welcoming the weight of him on top of you. It was heavy, a little crushing, but safe in a way. It was him, smothering you in the best way. 

He rolled off, a few huffs before he was beside you, feeling his release run out of you. You didn’t even care, you had the detergent- you’d clean the sheets. 

“You know I don’t like her.” Carmen muttered, still staring at the ceiling. You turned to look at him, silent but questioning. “Claire, or-or anyone, right?” Carmen’s eyes were rounded, filled with a familiar guilt that told you his mind was racing again. 

“I only like- I only love you.” Carmen corrected, lips pressing together, jaw flexing with emotion. “I-I don’t know why she did that, but… Like, you’re it for me. You know that? I don’t care about any of that other shit with Claire or-or anyone, because I just want you.” 

It was raw, a little hushed like he was scared to admit it, to say it too loud and scare you off- scare himself. But you did know it. Even through your blind, jealous rage, you knew it. You knew Carmen only cared for you, only loved you. And you felt the same way about him. 

“I know.” You nodded, reaching out to grab his hand, curling your fingers around the calloused fingers, bringing them to your lips. You kissed the inked ‘O’ on his middle finger, letting your nose nuzzle the skin. 

“I’m sorry I got jealous.” You muttered, leaning into his hand, hoping it would hide your flushed, embarrassed cheeks. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t like how she was trying it with you. Trying to come at what’s mine.”

Carmen grinned, the possessiveness in your voice, it made his heart skip. Knowing there was someone out there so fiercely protective of him- wanting to keep him and love him that way. It was something he never imagined having. He was glad he had it with you. 

“I know.” Carmen nodded, biting back his own grin. “You got me, though. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Carmen nodded, sliding closer to you on the duvet, letting his leg fall over your hip. 

You settled under the weight, still cradling his hand to your cheek. “Good.” You hummed. “‘M not goin’ anywhere either, Bear.” 

“You better not.” Carmen grinned, playfully but he meant it. 

You laughed, a breathy light huff, lips pressing a kiss into his thumb. “Well, except to clean the sheets.” You muttered, feeling the wetness pooling around you. “Probably need to do that.” 

“Yeah,” Carmen sighed, looking between the two of you. “I need to put the rest of the groceries away, too. Kinda got… distracted, ya know.” 

You blushed. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t be.” Carmen muttered, sincerity in his tone. “You-You don’t have to be sorry for that.” 

lip stutters, “i-i dunno. i really like her, okay?”

you’re satisfied with that answer. “in love” was a little too much too quick. but “really like” was something that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“what d’ya like about her?” ian presses.

you can practically hear the gears turning in lip’s head as his siblings impatiently await a response.

“she’s- i dunno, she’s pretty?” lip replies. you hold back a scowl, annoyed at him for not having a better answer.

“yeah, great rack,” debbie comments.

“jesus, deb!” lip’s head falls back in frustration, one hand coming to cradle your head as not to wake you with the sudden motion.

“cut the shit lip,” ian interrupts. “tell us what you really think.”

you hold your breath as you wait for his response. his lips brush your hairline before he sighs. “she’s sweet, yeah? real kind.”

“a real woman of the people,” ian snorts, “princess diana type.” then “ow!” as you hear debbie shove him.

“and- and she’s real smart, too,” lip continues. “really, really fuckin’ smart. an’ she works hard. she just tires herself out sometimes.”

he strokes your hair gently, pressing a few more fleeting kisses to your forehead.

“you’re so whipped.”

you hear debbie shove her brother again, and this time ian fights back, the two making a ruckus as they push each other back and forth.

“come on guys, out. now.” lip orders his siblings around with that same stern voice you’ve heard plenty of times before.

debbie pouts. “but-“

“no buts. go on, she’s fuckin’ sleepin’ in here an’ you’re gonna wake her up. fuck off.”

“we were just-“

“fuck. off.”

“jesus,” you can practically hear ian roll his eyes. “alright, alright. we’re going.”

debbie yells for fiona as the two shuffle out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind them.

you smirk to yourself as lip groans above you, showing your cards. “you’re awake?”

you peer up at him through your lashes, a smirk planted on your lips that he’s just dying to kiss off. “can’t believe your little sister said i have a great rack,” you whisper.

lip laughs, loud and genuine. “yeah, she’s been stuffing fi’s old training bras. growin’ up an’ shit. i don’t like it.”

you’re quiet for a moment, admiring him. you know how important those kids are to him. he’d do just about anything for them, including the minor crimes you find him tangled up in on a weekly basis. he loves them like they’re his own kids, which honestly they kind of are. they may shove each other around, curse each other out, yell and scream at the top of their lungs, but at the end of the day lip has been more of a father to his siblings than frank ever was.

“you really meant all that?” you ask.

lip looks down at you, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. “yeah. yeah, i did. meant every word.”

"good fucking girl," he growls in your ear, thrusting sharper so that your hips are banging repeatedly against the desk. you whimper and press your ass back into him, you try to speak but all that comes out is a garbled moan of his name. he smiles at this, sharp and wicked as his fingers dig into the meat of your ass. "o-oh shit- missed this, jesus."

you manage to pant out, "fuck! missed it so much," before you're clenching around him and arching your back in a white-hot wave of pleasure.

lip coos in your ear, "so fuckin' tight f'me. tha's my girl." his hips speed up and his thrusts become erratic, his teeth biting down softly on your ear as he comes inside you.

you let out an exhausted whine and crumple into the desk, feeling his chest press against your back. he pulls out with a soft hiss, fingers trailing patterns over the expanse of your back as his lips map a trail of kisses across your nape. he really had missed you.

"lemme get ya some clean clothes," he murmurs, standing and cleaning himself up with a spare tee before searching his drawers for something of yours. he finds a loose tank top of his and a comfy little pair of shorts for you, cleaning you up with gentle hands and helping you to stand as he dressed you.

you smile warmly and lean yourself against lip's chest. his heartbeat is soft and quick under your ear, a stark contrast to how soft and sated you feel. his lips kiss your hairline with gentle fervor, smattering small pecks to whatever he can reach. "missed you," you murmur, to which he laughs softly.

"missed ya too, sweetheart." he replies, pulling away and finding a cozy sweater to wrap you in. "ian an' mickey are downstairs, an' i'm fuckin' hungry. c'mon," he tells you with a grin. he locks his fingers in yours and pulls you down the stairs, a sweet giggle floating effortlessly from your lips. he's here. he's home.

mickey wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, and lip swats his head, grabbing two beers from the fridge and tossing one in mickey's direction. lip hands the other beer to you and grabs the pack of cigs on the counter. he lights it from the stove burner as you crack your beer and grab a pan, all between pressing a kiss on his cheek.

"quesadilla?' you ask, holding up tortillas, cheese, and a bag of peppers. you watch lip's face break into a wide grin, reaching out and grabbing your waist to pull you into his side. he lands a kiss on your lips, his presence so warm all around you.

"yeah, babe. missed your cookin'" he murmurs, resting his cheek against your own for one quick, sweet moment. then, of course, the aura of peace is shattered when mickey speaks up.

"yeah sweets, lip can't cook for shit!"

lip moves to the doorway to bicker with mickey in the living room, and you can't help but laugh at their antics. they're annoying, but you love them to death. regardless of it's flaws, you wouldn't trade the current moment for anything in the world.

"Why you gotta be so fuckin' mean, huh?" Lip grunted, one hand on the headboard to steady himself, the other tangled in your hair, yanking until your scalp screamed.

"Just gotta run that fuckin' mouth, huh? That's all you do? Just fuckin' run that mouth." A particularly hard thrust annunciated his irritation, leaving you gasping, a gut punch of a feeling to your cervix that had you breathless.

He was being mean, so mean, you'd made a point to tell him that too. You supposed you deserved it, for how mean you'd been earlier.

"What? You got nothin' to say now? No mean ass comments? C'mon, baby, let me hear you. You were so fuckin' loud and obnoxious earlier." Lip sneered, pulling back on your hair so you whined, pulling you into his chest. His hips didn't stop, hands moving to hold you lightly by your neck, just enough pressure to have you clenching and whimpering.

"You gonna say you're sorry t'me?" Lip rasped, nose pressed to your temple, hands snaking up your throat to grab your jaw, pull your face towards his. "Say you're sorry."

"'m n-not, sorry." You whined, legs wobbling when his hips snapped into you, sending you reeling all over again. "You were the one ignoring me-oh!"

"I was working, you fuckin' brat." Lip sneered, fingers curling and pressing into your jaw. "How about I come to your fuckin' job and start actin' all horny and desperate? See how you like it, huh?"

You pouted, satisfied that you'd gotten him so flustered and furious. "You'd like that though. I know you would. You'd like it if I came in and-and distracted you like this? Desperate." Lip growled.

"N-No, 'm not." You whined, your voice lilting and nasally, that pitch that had his abs clenching, waves of pleasure shooting through his own body.

"You are." Lip huffed, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, the ghosting of a whine trailing. "Say you are."

"No." You whimpered, hips grinding down to meet his thrusts, desperate for friction. You were already so close.

"Say it, or you don't get to cum." Lip commanded, yanking your jaw towards him so you faced him, noses brushing. "Say you were actin' desperate or I stop. I'll cum either way, but you... fuck, you won't get to cum."

You knew he was being serious. He'd jack himself in front of you, probably tie you up and make you watch while he told you what a bad girl you were. You huffed, bratty and petulant, making Lip suck his teeth.

"I-I was..." You leaned against his chest, head lolling back in pleasure when his free hand rolled your nipples. "I was desperate." You muttered, eyes closed, refusing to look at him when you grumbled the phrase.

"Look at me." Lip growled. "You know better, look at me."

You blinked, looking at him through hazy, blurred vision, lust drunk and so close to your own orgasm it was painful. "I-I was desperate, Lip, please." You whined, lip jutting out in the perfect pout.

His eyes flickered down to your lip, teeth baring and resisting the urge to bite your lip. Roll it between his teeth, pull it so he could hear you whine and cry. His cock twitched at the thought, hammering into you.

"Say you were a bad girl." Lip commanded, his free hand gliding down to your mound, fingers ghosting over your puffy lips, purposely avoiding your clit when he knew you were so desperate for him to touch you there- knew it would send you over the edge. "Say it."

"I-I was... Iwasabadgirl." You sobbed, his pointer finger pressing on your clit, rubbing just enough to have you bucking in his arms, legs shaking and flooding his cock, overtook by your own orgasm.

Lip held you while you shook, slow rocks of his hips until your eyes were glassy, body still shuddering with aftershocks. "There she is. There's my bad fuckin' girl." Lip grinned, lying you against the pillows, sprawled out and whimpering.

His hips ground slow against you, feeling your spasming clenches, hearing the wet squelch that filled the room. "Can you be good f'me? Lay there and let me finish?" Lip tilted his head to the side, tapping your cheek lightly to look at him, hovered above you with piercing eyes and flushed cheeks.